


we're a crooked love in a straight line down

by sagexbrush



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: AU, Anxiety, Drowning, F/M, FitzSimmons - Freeform, Romance, Sad, au season two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 15:57:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4269357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sagexbrush/pseuds/sagexbrush
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You can see it, can't you Fitz?" she asks, and then doesn't wait for a reply before continuing, "You can see that I'm still drowning." <br/>.<br/>(or the one where Fitz doesn't join the team but Jemma does.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	we're a crooked love in a straight line down

**Author's Note:**

> I really don't know how to feel about this, but I'm hoping it's good enough. I have had this idea for a while, and I just needed to get it out. It might not be as long as it (probably) should be, but I hope you enjoy it regardless.

The debriefing room is a familiar (and dreaded) site to Simmons by now.

            Usually the long table is filled with agents sitting, fidgeting, and listening with rapt attention to the director. Today it’s just Simmons though – her and the director. They haven’t had any one on one time since…well since Hydra.

            “What can I help you with sir?” Simmons asks politely, folding her hands gently in front of her. She’s not nervous, Coulson may look (and sound) tough, but she knew he had a soft side.

            “You were once partners with one Leo Fitz?” Coulson asks casually, his eyes focused on a long memo in front of him. She can see her own picture at the top, and another newspaper article beneath it – one that had blue eyes and a Scottish voice depicted.

            It feels like time stops with the words _Leo Fitz_. The name is instantly familiar, but she hasn’t heard it in so long that it almost sounds rusty.

            “Yes sir, Fitz and I were best –“ she breaks off, unable to say the word _friends_.

            “I need you to bring him in,” Coulson says, his eyes still not looking at her – because she was pretty sure that if he was, he would see her hands shaking.

            “May I ask why sir?”

            “We need someone to engineer cloaking, and if you’ve already established a relationship with him – well he’s one of the best in the world.”

            _Of course he is._

She feels her stomach drop into her shoes when she realizes that yes – she’ll have to bring him in. She’ll have to see him again – the first time since she hung up the phone.

            _Fitz and I were best friends._

“I’m certain Fitz would be happy to help,” she lies, the words coming out forced and tight. Coulson doesn’t glance up – he’s go a _lot_ on his plate and can’t really be concerned with his agent past relationships. “Do you have an address for him? It might be best if I make contact first.”

            “Ask Skye to get it for you.”

            “Right,” Simmons nods, backing quickly out of the room, “I’ll get right on that.”

* * *

            “Who do you want me to look up?” Skye asks eagerly, cracking her knuckles. She hasn’t had much time to practice her hobbies, none of them have.

            “Leopold Fitz,” Simmons says, “He’s a Scottish scientist I used to work with.” She’s wondering how no one notices the trembling in her voice when she speaks of him, how shaken up the thought of seeing him like she was makes her.

            Skye’s fingers fly across the keyboard.

            “He’s living in New York – working for Stark industries,” Skye whistles, “Damn Simmons. He’s loaded.”

            Simmons squints at the screen, and only then realizes how very _high_ up Leo Fitz is in Stark industries. Her gangly best friend is gone, instead replaced with pictures of a strapping young man in a black coat, his curls tamed, his blue eyes vibrant, standing next to _Tony Stark_.

            She doesn’t let herself reflect on how much he’s changed – afraid it might tear her apart inside if she lets it.

            “Can you get me an address?” is what she asks instead, and Skye nods, her fingers flying once more over the keys.

* * *    

“Can’t you just let me up?”

            The doorman looks bored; “I can’t let you in without permission from the resident in question. Do you want me to buzz him?”

            “Yes please,” Simmons finally sighs. The doorman hits one of the numerous buttons behind him. It only takes a minute before his voice is crackling through the speaker, and her heart squeezes in her chest.

            “Mr. Fitz, I have a young lady here who wants to see you.”

            “What’s her name?”

            The man looks at her, and she swallows hard. This could potentially end badly – he could tell her to fuck off.

            “Jemma Simmons.”

            “She says its Jemma Simmons.”

            There’s a silence, the rough scrape of breathing the only sound in the silence. Finally he sighs.

            “Send her up.”

            It’s another five minutes before she reaches his door, knocking on it with shaky fingers, her feet curling in their boots. It was a miracle he let her up, but it could be just to turn her away so he could see the reaction on her face when he did. (It was what she deserved anyways.)

            When he opens the door, part of her is relieved to see that he’s dressed like she knows Fitz to dress, a knitted sweater and plaid shirt, jeans and sneakers. Even when everything’s changed – at least he still has the same fashion sense.

            “Hi Fitz,” she says when he simply stares at her – those blue oceans of eyes fixated on her.

            “Simmons,” he says softly, “Is that really you?”

            She laughs nervously, “Who else would it be?”

            She’s expecting him to scream and shake her – to demand answers. Instead he just stands there, his eyes tracing over her every aspect.

            “You look different,” is all he says at last, stepping back and allowing her to enter his home.

            As soon as he says this, part of her wants to start crying, throw her arms around him and never let go. She doesn’t think he would appreciate it though, and instead stuffs her hands in her pockets.

            “How have you been?” she asks at the same time he goes –

            “What do you want?”

            She answers first, trying to take on a more professional tone opposed to the hesitant one she had adopted before.

            “I’m here on behalf of SHIELD.”

            Fitz scoffs, shutting the door tightly behind them. “SHIELD is finished. Or are you working for Hydra now Simmons?”

            She pretends that his comment doesn’t sting – but in fact in feels like a millions wasps are bouncing around the inside of her stomach.

            “No,” she says quietly, “I work for the _real_ SHIELD. It’s a new organization, one that rose up out of what was left behind.”

            Fitz nods like she knows exactly what she’s talking about (and if he works for Tony Stark, he _might_.) She bites her tongue – waiting for him to speak next.

            (Two years ago, they’d already be arguing about their latest experiment.)

            “And what does SHIELD want from me?” he asks. They’re still standing in the entryway to his home, and he’s standing in front of her, blocking the rest of the view.

            “We could use your help in engineering cloaking,” she says, “For a rather large plane.”

            Fitz whistles. “Well that could take some time and handiwork.”

            “We do have a team of some other professionals –“

            “Then why do you need me?”

            Simmons starts at his question, wondering if _because Coulson asked me to_ was an acceptable answer. She can see it in his eyes – something that he somehow _wants_ her to say, but she doesn’t really know what it is.

            “You’re the best,” she says, the praise lifting up her voice slightly so it’s more like overcast than thunderclouds. “You’ll be well compensated for your time.”

            She’s never noticed how blue his eyes were, but they’re suddenly on her’s, intently staring in her soul, like he can see every aspect of her. She remembered when his gaze used to feel like a warm breeze – now it feels like a miniature hurricane. She can tell at once that she hasn’t said what he wants her to say.

            “Why do you need the cloaking done?”

            “We need to able to travel freely to…” she gestures limply, “save lives.”

            “So you’re still in the field?” the words sound casual, but his tone is practically hostile.

            _What happened to us?_

“Not really, no. I’m running the science division at the moment – they only need me for really big things.” She doesn’t add why this is true, why they’ve sidelined her like a player in a football match.

            “I’ll do it,” Fitz says in a rush, and she looks at him in surprise.

            “Really?”

            “Yeah,” he says, “Mr. Stark gave me the month off, I was about to go crazy from lack of a project.”

            “I see,” she says, trying for a smile – one he doesn’t return. “Well, we have to fly on, and then you have to take a ridiculous lie test to make sure you’re not Hydra – “

            “Lie test?” Fitz scoffs.

            “It really works,” Simmons says, noting his disbelief, “It detected – well let’s just say it detected someone who lied for a living.”

            Fitz seems to search her face after she says this, but just nods to himself when she doesn’t say anything else.

            “I’ll pack.”

  *       * * *
  *        “Fitz?” she asks, when they’re tucked into their slightly too small seats in the airplane.



            “Yes?” he doesn’t look at her, but pulls out a book.

            “You never did answer my earlier question.”

            “Which one?”

            “How have you been?” the person that’s sitting in the aisle across of them odds them strangely.

            “Happy,” Fitz says, still not looking. “Life’s been good.”

            She pretends this doesn’t hurt.

            “Ah, that’s good.”

            “How has you life been?” he asks, and part of her lightens – _he wants to know how she’s been._

Then comes the answer to his question. She considers lying and saying it’s been good, but that’s when the image of water pops into her brain and the word goes flying out of her mouth.

            “Shitty.”

            Fitz looks at her, she can feel it, but she’s turned to look out and the window and doesn’t say anything else.

* * *

            “We have to blindfold you,” she says when they land, “It’s just a precaution.”

            “So if I’m evil, I won’t know where your secret base is?” he asks, “Even though I already know what city it’s in?”

            She doesn’t answer – doesn’t tell him that she was supposed to put on the blindfold a while ago. Instead she just wraps the black cloth tightly around his eyes and guides him down into her car.

            “So is the lab nice?” he asks conversationally, and she wonders why he’s acting nice all the sudden.

            “Oh, it’s very nice,” she says, nodding before she realizes that he _can’t_ see her nodding. He’s very trusting of her, she thinks, for all she’s done.

            “Did you ever miss me?” he asks suddenly, his voice hard. _Oh_ , she thought, _that’s what he was getting to._

            “I missed you every day,” she tells him.

            He doesn’t say anything else.

* * *

            Coulson is the one to welcome him once they step onto the Playground. _It’s great to finally meet you._ Fitz is polite, kind even.

            “I’m just going to show him around the base a little bit,” Coulson says, “Jemma, why don’t you get the lab set up?”

            “Of course,” she nods, and locks eyes with Fitz one more time before she turns away. His eyes are unreadable.

            He never used to be like that. She used to be able to read him like a book – but of course she was the one that changed all that. _She_ was the one that ruined it.

* * *

            It’s around thirty minutes later and she’s starting to get worried, because in all honesty it doesn’t take _that_ long to show someone around the base, and she wonders if Fitz is telling Coulson their story. It makes her so nervous that she starts to make tea, her hands trembling and her heart in her throat.

            The sound of someone clearing their throat startles her, and she almost drops the two cups she’s holding (one for Fitz and one for her) whirling around.

            “Hi,” Fitz says uneasily, stepping inside the room like she might bite him.

            “Oh, hello!” she says, her voice rising, the emotions in her body doing cartwheels. “I made some tea – just how you like it. I wasn’t sure if you still liked the same kind –“

            “Of course I do,” Fitz scoffs, “You don’t just _change_ your favorite tea.”

            She laughs, and pours the tea into their cups, passing it to him.

            “So, this is the lab,” she says, gesturing around the large room. She doesn’t add that it didn’t used to be her lab, that she used to have a cozy area in a plane.

            “It looks nice,” Fitz tries, and she nervously picks at the hem of her shirt. She doesn’t know what she’s doing anymore.

            “Yes, and everything’s labeled, so you should be able to find everything. Um – I have to check on some other things, but if you have any questions just ask me or Mac, he’s the really tall bloke that works in the garage.” She gives an encouraging smile, and quickly exits.

            She’s lying; she doesn’t have anywhere to go. Hell, they hardly trust her with running the science division; they wouldn’t keep her busy all the time. Her hands start shaking again and she rests them flat against the wall in the hallway, leaning so her forehead is pressing against the cool bricks.

            She concentrates on her breathing, trying to calm down. She doesn’t understand why Fitz is triggering this, but he is and she slams her hand against the wall in anger.

            “Jemma?” it’s Skye, her voice warm and comforting, her hand going to rub against her shoulder. “You okay?”

            Jemma straightens at once, blinking back the tears that had somehow risen to her eyes.

            “Yeah,” she lies, “I’m totally fine.”

            She used to be terrible at lying, she used to stutter and make up impossible things, prepare for hours – but she’s learned to lie.

            “Are you sure?”

            “Yes,” she says, “Sorry, I’ve got to go. You should meet our new help, his name is Fitz.”

            She knows Fitz and Skye will get along, and he deserves to have a real friend here. Someone that’s not filled him with imaginary bullet holes.

* * *

            Over the next week, Fitz constantly working on the cloaking device, she doing whatever odd jobs Coulson sent down to her, they hardly spoke. There were _good mornings_ and _see you laters_ , and _can you pass me that wrench_ – but they didn’t _really_ talk.

            The ghost of who they used to be constantly lingered in the lab like an unwanted presence, but she was sure that she was the only one who could see it.

            Fitz was fitting in smashingly, talking with Skye and playing video games with Mac, cracking jokes with Trip. Everyone loved him, and she didn’t blame them. It was so very easy to love Fitz – it was the trying to hate him that was the hard part.

            She had finally accepted that they were never going to be themselves again, that he was going to stay the same Fitz and she would be broken little Jemma, but then comes the tenth day of his being here.

            The fire alarms in the Playground were _uber_ sensitive, so when Hunter burnt something on the stove, _everything_ went off. The fire alarms, the flashing lights, and the sprinklers.

            They were the only two in the lab, and when the water began pouring down like rain unexpectedly and out of the blue, she automatically screamed.

            If there was something Jemma Simmons feared more than Hydra, it was water. She knew you needed water to survive, know that it made up most of your being, knew that it was most of the earth and _everywhere_ – but it didn’t stop her from having a panic attack as soon as the water poured down.

            She hadn’t used to be afraid, she used to love getting wet in the sprinklers or going to the pool, swimming in a lake.

            Now it took her fifteen minutes of mental preparation just to get into the shower.

            This time, she had no preparation, no warning, just _water_. She cries out, falling to her knees, her hands pressed firmly over her ears.

            _“NO! NO PLEASE DON’T! WARD DON’T –“_

_“It’s a weakness.”_

_Fallingfallingfalling, screamingscreamingscreaming, waterwaterwaterwater, water everywhere, blood everywhere, can’t breathe, hands grabbing, blood, water, hands, breathe, oxygen, dying._

“Jemma!” there is a voice in her ear, but she can’t move, “Jemma we need to get out –“

            “No,” she whimpers, “Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe.”

            _“You should give me the oxygen Simmons – I mean who do you have to live for?_

She feels a pair of arms circle around her body, hoisting her into the air.

            _“He didn’t make it.”_

_“IT’S YOUR FAULT. YOU DIDN’T SWIM FAST ENOUGH!”_

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, “I’m so sorry. I wanted to save you – I wanted to save you.”

            She’s pressed against something warm now, and it has to be the ventilator, decreasing the pressure from her body, draining it.

            “Jemma,” someone’s saying, a voice that she misses more than anything, and she clutches at it. “Jemma you’re not there. Jemma you’re with me. Jemma stay with me.”

            He’s so warm, and the ocean that’s always surrounding her is cold, and she wants to find him. She wants to be his other half again.

            “Fitz,” she whispers, because she knows the warmth’s name, because it’s the only _true_ warmth in this world.

            “Yeah,” he says softly, “It’s me. You’re okay.”

            She begins to breathe, her head spinning, and she presses her face into the fabric of his shirt – grateful that he’s here.

            She hasn’t had what she calls an ‘attack’ for a while now, but it still manages to rock her world and make her body weak.

            She knows that Fitz will have a lot of questions later, and he’ll probably grow distant again, she knows this could possibly be the last time she ever feels his warmth like this, so she stays quiet – her heart pounding, her clothes wet, her eyes full of tears.

            “You’re okay now,” he repeats, “I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.”

* * *

           

Despite the fact that the base is fine, and while the lab may be now soaked in water (luckily it was only the lab that had the automatic sprinklers), she was fine. Fitz still insists on her getting fresh air, carrying her out to the entrance, wrapping a blanket around her and promising he’d be back with a cup of tea.

            She assumes that Coulson has given him the clearance to see where the base is, and sits huddled outside, her face pressed into her knees.

            She also assumes that Fitz merely wants to get answers about her panic attack, and that’s why he’s being so kind.

            “Sorry it took me so long,” he says from behind her, “I couldn’t find the right tea.”

            She takes the mug from him and takes a shaky sip. She’s just barely also gotten clean clothes on (deposited by Skye) but she can still feel the water clinging to her like some sort of second skin.

            “I know you’re wondering what that was,” she begins shakily, but it cut off by Fitz placing his hand on her knee.

            “You don’t have to tell me now Jemma,” he says gently, “I’m guessing it was something that happened when Hydra took over?”

            She nods, tears welling up in her eyes, and suddenly she’s sobbing and he’s holding her close, his arms wrapping around her, his face burying in her hair and her tears staining his shirt.

            “Why?” she sobs, “Why are you being so nice? I don’t deserve it.”

            He strokes her hair.

            “You only think you don’t deserve it,” he whispers, “And you’re my best friend. Of course I’ll be nice to you.”

            She pulls back slightly so she can see his face, tears still pouring down like rain.

            “I’m still your best friend?” she asks, her voice shaking.

            “Always.”

* * *

            She would have thought things would get better after that, and they might have, if Grant Ward didn’t escape on his way to his brother the next day.

            She sees him walking down the hall before it happens, his eyes fixed on Skye, a beard filling the lower half of his face and his eyes dark.

            “Who’s that?” Fitz asks, and she has to fight off vomit. He’s standing with her and Skye, watching the man approach, and she has to back away, trembling slightly.

            “He ruined all of our lives,” Skye answers him, her voice just loud enough for Ward to hear, and then she follows her back.

            She’s shaking again, between the water and Ward and everything feels like it’s slowly crumbling beneath her feet. She feels like she’s trapped in her own mind, worry twisting her gut, banging to get out.

            “He doesn’t deserve this,” she whispers heatedly, “He deserves to die.”

            Fitz looks at her in horror, and she brushes away his gaze, exiting the lab quickly so she can be alone.

            He finds her later, when news of his escape reaches their ears, curled in a ball, shaking, her fingers plugged in her ears.

            “Who was he Jemma?” he asks, “Is he what –“

            She just nods.

            “He’s the one who made me drown,” she whispers into the quiet.

            “Made you drown?”

            She looks up at him then.

            “You can see it, can’t you Fitz?” she asks, and then doesn’t wait for a reply before continuing. “You can see that I’m still drowning.”

* * *

            The next day, she hears Fitz arguing with Coulson (perhaps the only person other than Skye or May to _ever_ do that).

            “She can’t stay here, it’s not healthy.”

            “I’m afraid Agent Simmons would be in more danger if we sent her out for long periods of time in the field.”

            “You let her out alone when she went to get me.”

            “She had backup, we just thought it you saw her you might be more easily persuaded to help!”

            “She wouldn’t be in the field, she could live a normal life!”

            “I’m afraid that now Ward is on the loose, we can’t let any of our agents go.”             “But she’s not – she’s not – she’s not herself.”

            “I’m sorry Mr. Fitz, but that’s my final word on it.”

            She has her ear pressing against the door at this point, but when she hears Fitz approaching she darts down the hallway. She watches him for a moment when he exits the office, watches as he slams his fist against the wall and swears.

* * *

            He finds her later, working in the lab, her eyes fixated on a fascinating sample from someone on the index. It’s an old project, one that hardly matters anymore but that is excellently distracting.

            “I know I said I could wait, but I can’t,” he says, “I need to know Jemma. No one else will tell me what that man did, and I –“

            “You have a right to know,” she smiles. “You do. I’ll tell you.”

            He sighs, relieved, “Right well –“

            “I suppose it starts the day I left. You remember that day, don’t you? The day when you said you loved me and I decided that I didn’t, and I went and joined Coulson’s team?”

            Fitz looks taken aback, his blue eyes injured. She knows she’s hurting him, but she can’t stop now.

            “You know, it was my fault. I think before we go over my fucked up life, we should talk about that.”

            “There’s nothing to discuss,” he mutters, “You basically said everything I thought.”

            “But you don’t know what I never said,” she says, tears rising in her eyes, “And maybe there is something to talk about. I don’t know what that is, but I just wanted to say, before you go and feel bad for me because of my story – that I was wrong. That I’m so sorry.” She takes a deep breath, “And I know I can’t fix things, but I want you to know I wish I could.”

            “Okay,” Fitz says warily.

            “And I don’t want to talk about it _now_ , because everything’s already happening so fast again, and I just need some time.”

            He nods again.

            “But I am going to tell you what happened to me, and about Ward,” she sighs loudly, “Ward was our specialist. He was a fighter, someone that saved our lives multiple times. He was quiet, closed, but we all trusted him.”

            “Then why is he –“

            “I had a partner you know,” she says, “His name was Lewis. He was a selfish little prick, but he was a hard worker, and we often got paired together. Sometime after Hydra took over – Lewis found a sign in the bathroom, scratched in by Skye’s fingernails no less, that said _Ward is Hydra_ ,” she sees Fitz suck in a breath but carries on, “I was the one that found the body in the storage room.”

            “The body –“

            “After that, a lot of stuff happened. Awful stuff – but the basis is, Lewis and I spilt off from the rest. We were looking for our plane – and we found it. Unfortunately, Ward found us first.”           

            Fitz is looking at her with horror in his eyes. She smiles weakly and continues.

            “He was given orders to kill us once we were on the plane, and Lewis was _terrified_. I was had gotten their leader quite angry by nearly killing him by shorting out electricity, and they wanted us _dead_. Well, we managed to escape the guards and were running, searching for a place to hide – when, well, Ward found us.”

            Fitz seems to have a feeling for how this story is going, his blue eyes are sad, as sad as the ocean they’re colored.

            “We managed to lock ourselves in a med pod, which are detachable from the ship. He – oh god – he,” she squeezes her eyes shut, the memory racing through her mind. “He pulled the lever that dropped us into the ocean.”

            “ _Jemma_ ,” Fitz whispers, but she keeps her eyes closed. She doesn’t want to see the horror on his face when he finds out what she’s done.

            “I managed to strap us both to a board and that’s how we survived the crash, but Lewis had broken an arm and I wasn’t quite sure how we were going to make it out,” she chokes back a sob, “We were in the bottom of the ocean – and, and we had no way of getting out.”

            “Lewis drowned,” Fitz says in realization, “Didn’t he?”

            She fights back tears, and nods. “I tried,” she whispers, “I tried to pull him up. But he was too heavy, and I couldn’t do it.”

            “It’s not your fault Jemma –“

            “Yes it is,” she says, and rambles on, “He was supposed to take the oxygen because I didn’t – I didn’t really have anything left, and he had a girlfriend and parents he talked to everyday , but me, you were gone and I stopped talking to my parents, but the water knocked him unconscious and I took the bloody oxygen.”

            Fitz pulls her in for another hug, and she realizes that she’s started to shake, her entire being rocking back and forth like there’s a miniature earthquake inside of her.

            “It wasn’t your fault,” he whispers, “You tried Jemma. You tried.”        

            “He died because of me,” she cries, “And all I could think was that I was glad you hadn’t come along because it might have been _you_ that died – I’m a horrible person.”

            “No,” Fitz says firmly, “You’re the best person there is. You might have made mistakes Jemma, but it’s okay,” he smiles encouragingly, “I was being stupid. I shouldn’t have expected you to feel the same way I did, and I certainly shouldn’t have let you hang up the phone and walk away.”

            “It’s not your –“

            “Don’t tell me it’s not my fault, because it _is_ ,” he persists. “I should have followed you Jemma. I should’ve been beside you in that pod, and I should have been there to hold you in the aftermath.”

            “I’m so sorry,” she repeats, pressing her face more firmly in his shirt. “I should have realized sooner.”

            “Realized what?”

            “That I can’t live without you.”

            Fitz pulls back slightly, surprise in his eyes. “What?” he breathes.

            “If Coulson hadn’t sent me to get you,” she says, “I was going to come find you anyways sooner or later. I _need_ you Fitz. I may be always be drowning, but you’re my air and I need you.”

            It’s probably the most poetic thing she’s ever said, and it makes her hands shake and her eyes water.

            “I’ve been back for thirteen days,” he says in amazement, “And you still –“

            “I still love you,” she says in a rush, “And I know – I know I said I needed time, and I still do, but please don’t give up on me.”

            He moves forward again, and gives her another hug, his breath tickling her head.

            “I will never give up on you,” he promises, “ _Never_.”

           

 


End file.
